Eragon is out to seduce all those who are having trouble facing
the holidays without another instalment of Peter Jackson's Lord
of the Rings to look forward to.

It has swords and sorcery, together with a proliferation of
people and places whose names feature lesser-used letters of the
alphabet, such as X, Y and Z. And its creator is a teenage Tolkien
fan whose own story is much more fantastic than the one on
screen.

Christopher Paolini was 15 when he started filling notebooks
with the makings of Eragon, the first novel in what has
since become a trilogy. When he finished it two years later, his
parents - owners of a small publishing outfit - decided to publish
and market his work and sold 10,000 copies.

Then a stroke of luck pushed the whole enterprise into the
commercial stratosphere. The book was read by the stepson of Carl
Hiaasen, the crime writer, who showed it to Knopf, his own
publisher; several million copies later, Paolini has become a
fixture on the bestseller lists.

He's playing a tough crowd here, however, and Eragon is
not exactly original. It's as if he has taken in by osmosis the
work of writers he admires, such as Tolkien and Philip Pullman, and
reconfigured the best bits to his own design.

There are echoes, too, of Star Wars. Like George Lucas,
he sounds as if he's been reading Joseph Campbell on the
complicated travails that heroes are required to experience in
showing themselves worthy of the definition.

We're eased into Paolini's world, which is called Alagaesia, by
the creamy voice of Jeremy Irons, who can make you swallow just
about anything no matter how many gritty consonants it may contain.
And there are quite a few here, starting with the name of the
film's Darth Vader equivalent, King Galbatorix, who controls the
whole country and is played by another creamy-voiced character,
John Malkovich.

In happier times, we're told, the country was run benevolently
by a band of heroes who rode magical flying dragons. But they
quarrelled among themselves and, in the ensuing conflict, all the
dragons were killed. Galbatorix was the rider who prevailed and the
country has suffered under his tyrannical rule ever since.

Then one day, everything changes. Seventeen-year-old Eragon (Ed
Speleers), who has grown up on a farm in a tiny village called
Carvahall and plans to spend the rest of his life there, finds a
strange blue oval object in the forest. Shortly afterwards, this
object cracks open to reveal a baby dragon. Eragon is intrigued but
mystified. Irons, however, knows exactly what is happening, for he
has been cast in the Obi-Wan Kenobi role as Brom, a retired dragon
rider hiding out in the village. Eragon, he realises, is the first
of a new generation of dragon rider and he is destined to free the
whole country. But first he must be persuaded to learn to ride the
increasingly hefty dragon instead of standing round repeating the
question: "Why me? I'm just a farm boy from Carvahall."

The film works hard to establish its kinship with Lord of
the Rings - a job made easier by the source of Paolini's
inspiration for Alagaesia. In sketching its topography, he had in
mind his own home in the mountains of Montana, which means there
are lots of sweeping alpine landscapes reminiscent of Jackson's New
Zealand settings. There's another New Zealand connection, too, in
the fact that Jackson's collaborators, WETA Digital, worked with
George Lucas's Industrial Light and Magic in putting together
Saphira, the dragon.

Voiced by Rachel Weisz, she's a supple creation who manages to
be just friendly enough. There's nothing remotely jolly or green
about her. She's a steely blue with a business-like attitude to the
task ahead - although she is permitted to banter a bit with Irons,
who remains remarkably buoyant throughout. And it's no mean feat,
given the amount of exposition he has to shovel through.

He fills us in on the history and geography of Alagaesia,
delivers a brief tutorial in dragon lore and briskly summarises the
dramatis personae, being careful not to gag on those consonants.
Then he has to plot the next course of action, the aim being to
reach Farthen Dur, the stronghold of the rebel group, the Varden,
without being caught by the brutal Urgals and their equally
unprepossessing allies, the Ra'zac.

These uglies are under the command of the King, although
Malkovich never emerges from his lair. Perhaps he's being held in
reserve for the sequels. Most of the heavy work here is done by
Robert Carlyle, wearing a red wig and matching contact lenses as
His Majesty's evil lieutenant, the sorcerer Durza. It's quite a
performance, featuring so much hissing and leering that I felt they
might have eased off on the score, which booms away relentlessly in
an effort to dictate your every response.

In short, those desperate for a dose of the fantastic should be
able to enjoy themselves. But true Lord of the Rings fans will find
it no substitute for the return of the real thing.